


Hitman

by UnholyHelbig



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 10:37:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15047039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnholyHelbig/pseuds/UnholyHelbig
Summary: Chloe Beale has two loving children with her wife Beca Mitchell, but when a new couple moves in down the street, not only do past fights resurface, but new ones come to light. [The AU where Chloe is an ex-hitman living in a suburban neighborhood]





	1. Chapter 1

**Chloe's arm was**  strapped to the woman's chest, her stance rigid and full of tension as she pressed her across the puke colored lockers. They had been repainted recently, the whole school used to boast the colors of blue and gold- proud, yet humble compared to the new setting that changed the once rough mascot of a Timberwolf into an all-inclusive leaf. A leaf of all things.

It thought the kids that competition wasn't always necessary. That you had to be creative and press your roots into the newly found soil instead of following the current of a pack of predators. The message hadn't been shared before- but now it was clearly plastered against the hallways in cheap PTA posters that were supposed to be done by the kids. Even though Chloe knew damn well a first grader couldn't pull off a glitter border of that magnitude.

She was restraining herself- just like a wolf, Chloe was taught to go right for the throat in any line of attack. She would subdue her prey not only to create a message but to gain respect. Of course, this wasn't the wild, and she wasn't pitted against another mangy animal. Instead, she was staring into the eyes of a chihuahua with a short haircut and too much time on her hands.

"What are you going to do, Chloe?" The woman snipped "Hit me? There are camera's all over this school."

Her turquoise stare flicked to one of the devices in question. She wasn't wrong; the elementary school as suited up with top of the line surveillance. There may not have been any physical witnesses around, but all Karen had to do was put on a sob story and the superintendent wouldn't hesitate in finding the clips.

If Chloe was being honest, she wasn't really sure about the quick second of rage that flashed through her. This woman was just so entitled and privileged. She had been proposing changes to the school every single PTA meeting, pushing for the damned leaf and now proposing that the board take away competition altogether. They had gotten heated enough to be sent on a "Timeout" as Super Intendant Fay so rudely stated into the microphone.

"You would know," Chloe said, lifting her chin slightly. Damn, that temper of hers needed to get under control. The hallway outside of a packed auditorium in suburbia was not the time nor the place to have an outburst. It was wasted on this woman who wore nothing but pale colored polos and khakis.

Regardless, she pulled away, straightening her own button down before giving the woman about a foot of room. Despite her deep confidence in the redhead's ability to restrain herself, Karen let out a breath of relief. Maybe it was contempt, but neither woman had the chance to figure it out before the slight buzz of after meeting donuts filled the air. Most people came for the food and not the actual discussion.

Chloe dreaded it herself- only clearing her schedule because Beca insisted that they become more involved in their children's school life. She couldn't fault her there. It was important to be aware- but Karen really rubbed her the wrong way.

"I hope you two are getting along,"  _Speak of the devil._

Beca Mitchell-Beale had changed magnitudes since her days at Barden University. Both women had. The prospect of pressing a gold-plated ring against Chloe's finger and settling down in a large house with a white picket fence became more and more appealing until the brunette finally decided that it was a close second to her music career- one she had already established quite well.

Her arm warped lazily around Chloe's waist, pulling her into her side with ease. The older girl fell naturally into place- instantly calming a bit at her wife's comforting embrace. Her shoulders dropped some of the tension as she faked a tight edged smile.

"Of course," She kissed the side of Beca's head, "Isn't that right, Karen? She actually has this great recipe for Lemon Margarine that She promised to give me."

"Right!" The woman parted her lips, giving Beca a kind nod "What can I say? I'm a real master chef… Now, if you ladies would excuse me, I have to go find John."

Both women nodded, watching the blonde as she sauntered away. They would bet that she wasn't naturally that swift or that cunning- having to adapt to the life a housewife in the middle of a 50's paradise. "Karen Kay will be the absolute death of me."

A swift slap on the upper arm caused Chloe to draw back as she feigned pain. Her nose crinkling. "Ow! Watch it, Mitchell, there are camera's here, you know? Courtesy of Miss West herself."

"You made a scene in there," Beca huffed, pouting at her finest as she stared her wife down. "I would expect Maddie being put in the hallway in time-out, but you?"

"You wouldn't swat your little hands at Maddie," Chloe grumbled.

" _She's six,_ " Beca cocked an eyebrow. She swore some of her uptight attitude from her Barden days had rubbed off on Chloe- the girl more stubborn that submissive especially when it came to the PTA. "And It's Mitchell-Beale to you."

"You shouldn't care what they think," She continued, trying to soothe the brunette. The woman still had her badge clipped to the outside of her collar. She had come right from the studio, the heir of annoyance with a demanding client on her mind. "The most exciting part of their lives is when the office manager orders the super-strength sticky notes."

"Not the point," Beca pulled at her wife's collar, running a hand over the seam of the light blue fabric- her shirt tucked into a pristine belt that stood out from the pitch colors of her jeans. "We're part of this community. You taking out your frustrations on the Kay's will not make it any easier for our girls. Alright?"

The smaller woman had a point, despite her grumpy nature about it all. She as a fuming pile of rage at the moment, Chloe ignoring her own quarrels as she laced her fingers with Beca's- the girl had a cold touch- one that instantly made the redhead run her thumb over the woman's fingers.

"I want to hear you say it." She sighed as she pressed her cheek against Chloe's arm, feeling an odd wave of exhaustion hit her. It had been a long and grueling day at the station.

Arctic eyes flashed over the majority of the room- it was large and cold, the ceilings high enough to echo. There were different pictures around the room of past classes that had graduated from the ranks of Willowdale Elementary school. The two double doors that lead to the auditorium were closed shut now- a mass of ticked off parents rushing for powdered donuts and off-brand juice. The orange kind that came in big clear jugs from a strange company out west.

"Should we make the rounds?" Chloe drew in a soft breath. She knew Beca was always amused when she started to go into her medical lingo, even if it was something her wife had only heard from an episode of Grey's Anatomy. With a little chuckle, she started to walk towards the group of people who weren't closely knit to the Kay's- and Karen of all people.

"Becaw, Chloe!" The warm voice of another stated as he grinned widely. Jesse Swanson was the trademark jock, or at least he had been in high school- a football player that married a real estate agent who still baked fresh cookies in an over to make the house she was listing feel more like home. He was still charismatic, still strong-willed, and most importantly, he could mess with Beca without losing a finger.

His arm was slung over Claire's shoulder, a slack smile on his face as she greeted them with a kind and welcoming smile. Both girls could tell that behind closed doors all of them had dreaded the prospect of another one of these gatherings.

"You really got into it with Karen today," Claire said, her soft golden eyes flicking between the two, trying to gauge the situation. "I'm surprised you didn't jump her right then and there."

"Please," Chloe scoffed, giving her friend a kind smile. "I have some self-control, Conrad."

"Good," Beca cocked her head to the side "I like this place, so no more restraining orders."

"That was one time," She laughed, squeezing the hand that was wrapped around her upper arm. Beca hated most social functions, even if it was with a bunch of small-town people in khakis and neon colored shirts. This place was home, and the younger woman didn't have the most convincing social skills- even after seven years of the pair being here.

Chloe struggled to direct the conversation elsewhere "Have you heard from your sister?"

Claire had her drink raised to her lips, swallowing the neon colored juice from a cheap plastic cup with a strangled gulp as a wide grin pressed against her lips. "Why? You thinking of offering her a job at Mercy West?"

"I've pondered it," The girl said with a slight smirk "If she's as good as you say she is in the field that she could come in handy in the OR."

Claire chuckled, "I think she's ready to settle down with her wife at this point. I sold her a place on Wilmington and 5th, so it looks like you two are getting new neighbors."

"Oh?" Beca knit her eyebrows together "You mean two homosexual couples on the same block?" She turned to face her wife, placing her hand on Chloe's chest right under her shoulder. "Babe, _we're tainting the neighborhood._  It's spreading like a disease."

Chloe barked out a laugh, Jesse and Claire beaming themselves at the woman's bitter antics. All of them remembered the hissy fit that Karen had made with her little wolf pack of Pinterest mom's when the two of them first staked claimed in Willowdale. The little town had never been harbored to anything other than a standard 1950's couple with a stay at home mom and businessman dad. It had gotten better, though.

"You sound like an anti-gay commercial." Jesse joked, shaking his head at the group of four settled down. "Besides, Stacie's wife is moving back here. She used to go to college at Barden."

"Did she?" Chloe asked, knitting her eyebrows together in amusement. "What are the odds?"


	2. Chapter 2

**A slight whimper**  wracked the girl's lungs as she pressed herself deeper into the passenger seat of the car. Her forehead was pressed heavily against the cold glass- the very glass that would vibrate and shift each time the blonde driving the vehicle would hit a pothole or the rumble strips.

This time, however, Stacie refused to stir, even with the near screams that got caught in her throat as the blanket she had draped over her was kicked off with discomfort. Even when the blonde slowly edged the car to a stop at the side of the road- feeling the speeding pull of other vehicles as the wind sucked between them into an endless voice.

She steadied herself, but her own car into park as she watched the moving van hiss by her, knowing now more than ever, that it would reach the house before they got a chance to. But that didn't matter- Stacie was more important. She didn't care about the schedule.

Instead, she grasped onto the chilled hand of her wife, pressing her thumb into the side of the woman's palm- the remembered the doctor saying she had to be calm- she had to keep her head about her and slowly lull the taller woman out of the memories that plagued her instead of jolting her awake.

Stacie whimpered once more, maybe at the stinging touch that Aubrey created when she ran her fingers over the half-moon shapes that leaked a rough crimson. The warmth coated her own skin as she struggled to ignore the pain that she had just induced.

"Stace," She whispered, using her free hand to unclip the uncomfortable belt that was strapped against her chest, it gave her a better grip on reality, on the edges that seemed to blur between dream and tangible life. "Baby, you have to wake up."

Another struggled hiss as Stacie bit the inside of her lip, it wasn't like the grumble of their two-year-old when he wanted to take five more minutes to cuddle up into his comforter. Owen was still fast asleep in the car seat behind the two young women- Aubrey having averted her juniper stare back to her son, a warmth quelling in her chest for a split second before she returned her attention back to the task at hand.

"You're okay," She whispered in a soothing tone "Just follow the sound of my voice, Stacie. You're going to be okay."

It was a mantra that she had memorized over time. She would switch up the phrases, but she had no intention of breaking something that was already fixed. It worked for the younger woman- it brought her back to the present day.

With a slight gasp for air, Stacie struggled to shoot up out of her seat- Aubrey, however, strapped her strong grip across the brunettes' chest, making sure her half-lucid state didn't cause her to slam into the dashboard with full unintentional force. Aubrey could feel the sweat that soaked through the rough fabric- smell the adrenaline as a sage stare bore into hers.

"Bree," She croaked out, the woman pulling back slightly as Stacie whipped around in her seat, shaking hands finding the edge of the car seat. Aubrey let her flounder for a split second, knowing Stacie needed reassurance that Owen was okay. "I-"

"It was a bad dream," Aubrey mollified, not letting her wife plunge back into the rifts in her memories. The nightmares came and went- mainly when something big was taking place in the girl's lives. Moving halfway across the country for a new surgical position at Mercy West was enough to lull her into the past one more.

She adjusted herself in the passenger seat, moving her hand to pull the wet fabric away from the small of her back, a look of relief pressed against her features as she swallowed down the anxieties that still wracked her body.

"I did it again," Stacie let out a disgruntled groan. "And now the moving truck is going to reach the house"

"Don't worry about it" Aubrey gave her a relaxed smile "They have my number, and the address. We'll be fine."

Stacie nodded, gulping down a mouthful of hair as she reached down to the side of the seat, adjusting the back until she was sitting straight up. Her deep eyes darted around; taking in the large hedge of trees to the right, a highway that smelled thickly of rubber on the left. She was white-knuckling the dashboard, once again flicking her gaze towards the rearview mirror.

Aubrey placed her hand on the gear shift, putting the car into drive as she waited for an opening among the traffic. Eventually, a kind soul slowed their vehicle down enough for Aubrey to give her a slight wave as she pulled into the flow of cars.

"Sweetie, it'll be okay" The blonde soothed, not taking her eyes off of the road "This is a fresh start. Willowdale has a good school district, a great one really."

"You're biased," She grumbled, crossing her hands over her chest. Her wife had grown up here, not giving much up about her past- but with a combination of memories about fairs, and Christmas pageants was enough to convince Stacie to meet with the head of Surgery. Doctor Mitchell- someone who had published a few papers, but never with a photo that most people in the medical field craved. The recognition.

"And you're going to love it," Aubrey said firmly, not glancing over as she held her hand out. Stacie didn't' need to be told twice, her own chilled grasp wrapping around the girl's hand. Even her touch was enough to feel the rapid heartbeat that pounded roughly against Stacie's wrist.

"You never talk much about Barden." She mused, biting the inside of her lip.

"It was a community college, babe." Aubrey lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. "It was filled with way too many stoners who just loved to party. So I left after a few years of messing around with a random major."

"Legal studies is not a random major," Stacie barked out a laugh, running her thumb lightly over her wife's. "You were good at it"

"Well, yeah, I'm good at everything." She joked "Besides, if I hadn't have quit that stupid school and joined the infantry, then I would have never met you. Things happen for a reason, just like this move."

Stacie groaned, knowing the woman would bring that up again. She had been dragging her feet through this whole entire process- but she knew Aubrey was right. The two of them couldn't stay in the little Seattle apartment. Owen was growing up fast, and life in the city wasn't suitable for the two. So they bought this place after a few long talks with a realtor, and a couple of whiskey straights.

Their conversation died off as the GPS cut through the car in that monotone voice that every single one shared. They pulled the car into a long road that was lined with identical houses, each with deep blue shutters and white picket fences. It was like if the contractor hit copy and paste- a few had a dog rushing around the green yard- or a basketball hoop that kids tried their best to use.

"Holy mother of suburbia," Stacie mumbled under her breath.

It made a soft smile move against Aubrey's lips.  _Your destination is ahead on the right._

"My right, or you're right?" The brunette asked.

"Your right, can't you tell by the moving trucks?"

"No, I genuinely cannot." She deadpanned, teasing as the moving company stood around the large white truck filled with boxes and a few large pieces of furniture. It made Aubrey laugh as she put the car back into park on the street in front of their new home.

"I'll grab Owen," the younger woman said, Aubrey's grip still running along the leather of the steering wheel. She placed a gentle touch pulling the blonde's lips up to hers- pecking her against the mouth before the two of them went into action.

Aubrey drew in a deep breath as she went to talk to the main mover, the man offering a warm smile as he held out his hand. She took it gratefully as Stacie struggled to gain feeling back in her legs. She stretched for a few seconds, feeling the satisfied pressure on her back before she pulled open the back door.

She was shocked to see Owen's bubbly smile and deep grey eyes blinking wildly at her. He had a bit of drool running past his lips as he let out the mix between a squawk and a squeal. "Hi, pretty boy!"

He writhed around in his seat with restless excitement as Stacie unhooked his belt, lifting him into her arms. He had been so good on the drive over, slowly becoming enticed by the new environment around him- his wide eyes darting around as she balanced the two-year-old on her hip. He was getting too heavy for this.

Sure, she could let him down, but the boy clung to the fabric of her shift with so much conviction that it would break her heart. She held him close, standing next to Aubrey as the man from the moving company gave her a dazzling smile, one meant for her and Owen.

Aubrey was leaning against the hood of the truck, signing a few documents as the other two guys started to pull open the back of the van. "Here you go," She smiled, handing the clipboard back. "Is there anything you guys need?"

"You marked all the boxes, right?" He asked with a voice much too deep to come from his tiny frame.

"Of course," Stacie responded, "Color-coded and everything."

"Then we should be good here." He said, "It'll take an hour or so to get all the stuff in there if you guys want to explore the town or something."

"Oh, I-"Aubrey started, an arm wrapped around her shoulder called her attention to her wife.

"We would love to," Stacie beamed, turning towards her wife "Come on, I'm starving."

"Food?" Owen said, his voice lisp filled as he tugged his spit covered fingers from his mouth, offering his slobbery hand out to Aubrey.

"No," She chuckled "You can keep that."

"See," The taller woman smirked, "Both of us are hungry."


	3. Chapter 3

**Beca slowly snaked** her arms around Chloe’s waist, running her fingers over the bare expanse of skin that rested under a sports bra. A toothbrush was hanging from her lips, frothy mint building at the corners of her mouth as she peered out their bedroom window. Her skin was hot from a morning shower, her hair damp and cold. Beca hugged her close, cheek resting against the woman’s upper arm.

She drew in an even breath, shifting her toothbrush from one side of her mouth to the other. “New neighbors,”

“Mm,” Beca hummed, flicking her eyes towards the identical house next to theirs. It was separated by a white picket fence. The moving truck had been in the driveway when they arrived home yesterday. Now a black SUV sat in its place- a little wooden swing set in the corner of the yard. Neither woman got a glance at the family that had moved in, only hearing about the Conrad’s from word of mouth. An army family that never stuck around too long. “I’m sure they’re nice.”

“Hopefully,” Chloe nudged Beca slightly, turning back to the bathroom. Beca leaned closer to the window, peeling back the curtains as she stared. “The girls are quiet this morning!” She shouted over the running water, spitting remnants of toothpaste into the sink.

That was never good, their twin daughters would tear through anything. Both mothers learned easily that the silence was a bad sign, and the sound of a broken vase was better than anything. They had taken away markers and resigned to the fact that if there was anything white in the house, it wouldn’t be for long.

“Maddie fell back asleep on the couch,” Beca explained, turning from the window as she pulled on the blazer that Chloe laid against their freshly made bed, a darkened lined pattern strong against a black t-shirt. “And Jules is too busy with cartoons to wake her up, so I think we’re safe for a few minutes.”

Beca walked to mirror that stretched against their wall as she fastened two minimalistic earrings. Her look was casual. Something that took a while to develop. When she worked with musicians, it was important to keep a professional wardrobe, but an eased one at that. Chloe was busy tucking a silk blue button down into her black pants, her front leaning against Beca’s back as she reached for her clip-on badge.

Her picture was almost identical to the one on her driver’s license. She was the only woman Beca had ever met that could take a decent photo. Blue words read _Chief of surgery_ under the navy borders. It made a certain heir of fondness pool in Beca’s chest. She reached forward first, taking the small clip and turning in her wives’ arms. Chloe lifting a perfect brow as Beca fastened it close to her breast pocket.

“I have a coffee date with Stacie Conrad, today.” Chloe’s breath was hot against her skin, goosebumps rising against slightly exposed skin. Her breath was minty. “The superintendent hired her, but still wants to make sure I want her in my wing.”

“Claire’s sister?” It was an obvious answer. It seemed like the Conrad’s would be a staple in their lives. The couple purchasing a house next door and taking up residence in Mercy West.

“Mm,” Chloe grasped the collar of Beca’s blazer, she ran her fingers against the fabric, making sure that the tag was tucked. Beca blushed. “Well, apparently her wife is in line to join the legal board, too. A power couple.”

“And what do you call a chief of surgery and a platinum music producer?”

“Busy,” Chloe gave her a peck of a kiss, Beca leaning in easily as she placed her curled finger under her chin, pulling her close. Chloe let out an involuntary moan. A loud and unforgiving crash rocked through the house.

“Oh! Oops!” A tiny voice was overlapped by the groan that pulled at Beca’s throat, her forehead flopping into Chloe’s chest as the older woman chuckled, rubbing large warm circles on her back as she muffled her groans. At least the two of them got five minutes of peace without something being broken. Chloe hoped it wasn’t that vase her grandmother got her, and Beca hoped it was.

Her nose was cold against the nave of Chloe’s neck, the older woman giving her one last squeeze before breaking the embrace to wander down to the living room. Beca followed, grasping her shoes before she flicked out the lights and followed her wife down the steps.

Maddie struggled to stir sleep from her midnight stare, both girls possessing stares that were sharp and reflected nothing but a snippy music producer, hair dark but features soft like Chloe’s. The twins holding alternate personalities, most surveying after one of their parents. “Hmm?”

Jules stared guiltily down at a glass of milk that had shattered on the floor, white mixed with pieces of glass. She knew well enough to stay standing on top of the couch cushion that her sister struggled to curl up on, her thumb half in her mouth as she blinked dumbly. Chloe lifted Jules up from under her arms, setting her on the opposite side of the sofa.

“I droppeded the cup,”

Chloe bit her tongue, casting a glance over at her wife, who squawked at Maddie, trying to keep the half-asleep child still on the couch. She watched her feet herself, trying not to cut them on shattered glass. “I know, sweetie. And dropped.”

Julia’s eyes widened as she nodded, brown curls falling into her perfect little gaze. Chloe wanted to be mad, she did. But it came with the territory of kids. Her heart wasn’t exactly in yelling today, over spilled milk ironically.

“Go change your shirt, yeah? We have to get you to school. Mama’s driving you today.”

Beca opened her mouth to protest but quickly dropped it once she flipped her watch towards her. It was too late to catch the bus, and the elementary school was on her way. Maddie perked up at that, wiggling even more in her seat. Chloe didn’t hold back rolling her eyes this time, instead grabbing a rag to wipe up the milk as Beca set the quieter twin off to find her shoes.

“I should rethink the glass cups in the future,” Beca grumbled, piling the large pieces into her hand carefully. “And _you_ are taking the girls to soccer tonight.”

“What if I’m busy saving lives?” Chloe asked without looking up, the rag sopping in dairy.

“You mean filling out paperwork?” Beca’s tone teasing. “I’m sure some of those boxes can be left unchecked for a few hours.”

Chloe sat back on her ankles, quirking a brow at the woman who met her expression with a defiant smirk, still careful not to cut her palm on the edged object. “Touché Mitchell.”

“Mitchell Beale, actually.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is just poorly executed family fluff. I promise there will be some action.


End file.
